


Unspoken

by monimala



Category: General Hospital
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 06:56:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monimala/pseuds/monimala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a>Porn Battle XIV</a>, and the prompts “future” and “memories.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspoken

She’s lost two husbands by the time Ethan finally returns home to Port Charles. One to a tragic accident, another to an equally tragic hail of bullets. She’s a widow at 25, old before her time, and she feels taller, bigger, eye-to-eye with him when he walks into the back of the church and stops in his tracks.

She doesn’t know exactly when she started dressing completely in black. It just feels…appropriate somehow. Thick kohl lines her eyes, oil-slick polish coats her nails and the lace on her fingerless gloves looks like the latticework of the screen in a confessional booth. That, too, is appropriate. All she has left now are sins left unspoken.

“Krissy” he calls her, like she’s still that little girl he left behind. “Krissy, I ‘m so sorry. I came as soon as I heard.”

He hasn’t changed a bit. His hair is still too long. His voice is still too rough. And he still makes her feel so safe and so cared for. Too bad safety and care have no meaning anymore. “You’re too late,” she says as she brushes past him and goes out into the night.

The service and burial were swift, attended only by her family, who left her alone after multiple reassurances that she would be fine. Nobody was there to mourn the deceased, not even her stepmother, who was married to him for a forgettable handful of months. Sometimes, she’s not sure she’s mourning either. After all, she really lost Johnny years ago. Along with her youth, her hope and her dream that Ethan would fall in love with her.

The churchyard is dark, shadowed with trees and little benches for those who want to contemplate God in peace. Kristina has never bothered. Where was God when Faith Rosco kidnapped her? Where was God when Kiefer beat her senseless and forced his way into her body? When Trey died? When Johnny tried to stop a turf war and paid for it with his life? All she contemplates as she stretches out on the worn, wooden seat is that Ethan is hours, days, months and years too late for any of it to matter.

“Kristina.” Suddenly he’s kneeling by her side, all long limbs and gawky angles…except not so gawky anymore, because he’s grown into a man. It’s in his face, the breadth of his chest…all those years he spent away. “I’m here. Let me help you.”

His eyes are so black they practically match her. Her clothes, her makeup, her nails and her soul. His beard rasps against the palm of her glove. He shudders when she pulls his face down to hers. When she drags her teeth along his lower lip and whispers, “No.”

He calls her “Baby” like he still has the right. She tells him “fuck me” like she expects it. They meet somewhere in the middle, with him dragging her half off the bench, her black widow’s weeds hiked up around her thighs, and her pulling at his hair hard enough for it to hurt. 

She fumbles with his zipper, but not with his cock, taking him all the way to the hilt. “I hate you for leaving me, Ethan.” She gasps her rage into his ear, sobs into the hard, cruel grind of their bodies. “I will always hate you for leaving me.”

What she means is “I never stopped loving you,” and he comes as soon as he hears.

\--end--

January 20, 2013


End file.
